Wrong
by Aythius
Summary: Hermione and Ron have a little thinking time. Just friends, right? Oneshot. RHr


**Discalimer: **As always I own ABSOLOUTLEY nothing. It all belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. And whoever else helped with the books/films.

**Summary: **Hermione and Ron have a little thinking time. Just freinds, right? One-shot. R/Hr

**Authors Note: **Just thinking during art class, got the idea, had to write it. One-shot as are most of my fics.

**Just Friends**

Ron POV

She's reading - _again. _She's just sitting there, her eyes sliding over the words, I can't help but watch her. She's in her favourite chair. It's the big soft one that she claims as her own, I notice the little scratch marks on the arm. She usually picks away at that, one hand balncing a book on her knees the other picking away at the soft scarlet material. You can see some of the wood shine through now.

She heaves the book with her into a more comfortable position. I swear I see some dust rising from the ancient volume, she must have saved that one from the library. She practically _lives _in there, I can't stand it. It looks boring to me. Just shelfs of books, bits of paper, _hours_ of reading and_ learning _don't we do enough of that in class? I'd rather be on the Quidditch Pitch; as sea of screaming fans, saving endless goals and getting the loudest cheers...

I think that's why we argue so much. Because we're so different. We agree on the main points in life but other times she moan at us for making fun of _Snape _or beating up _Malfoy_. The "Dumbledore trusts him" and "Not all Slytherins are evil" lines are starting to wear a bit thin.

Then there are times when she can be so _utterly _spontaneous. Coming out with new ways of breaking rules or some amazingly thought out plan that even Dumbledore would find impossible to comprehend. She is amazing-in a friend way of course.

I look into her eyes to see them glazed with excitement as her eyes skim faster over the tiny print in front of her. I try hard to hide my grin, you can always tell when she has found something interesting. If it's really important she lets out this really high pitched squeak and starts to become quite flustered and energetic. That used to annoy me, how she could squeak so loud I mean, but that was then. That was _ages _ago now.

She starts to search in her overloaded bag, it looks like it's about to burst, some threads are already starting to break away. I'll mention that to her later, but not now. No I need to think. Finally her hand emerges with a slightly bent quill and neatly folded parchment. She fishes a small dark red ink pot and sets in down on the table in front of her before staining her quill with the scarlet ink and begining to take notes in her neat script occasionally glancing back at the book.

She starts to bite her lip, I should warn her not to do that, I always think that -but I never do warn her. Is it something one friend can say to the other? Or is it too protective? I wonder if Harry thinks all this? For some reason, I hope he dosen't.

As I predicted a drop of red sildes onto her white teeth as she opens freshly closed wounds. She _always _bites her lip, and she always licks away the blood as if it were nothing more than the flecks of red ink staining her fingers. She dosen't realise how precious her blood is... muggleborn or not.

Mudblood... I can't help but feel anger every time I hear it. Probably more than natural, but I'm one of her best friends after all. I _should _feel anger. She dosen't deserve to be called anything other than goddess, she's perfect. As a friend-obviously.

She reaches up and tucks some loose strands of her hair behind her ears. It's a pointless activity really, her bushy hair just springs back to it's original position, I think it's more of a habit than anything else. Sometimes, I wish I was the one tucking those strands of hair out of her hazel eyes, just so I could see them so effortlessly spring back. I could do that all day.

Suddenly her head snaps up and her hazel eyes meet my blue ones. For that one second I'm thrown into this vault of emotion, swirling in her beauty. Drinking this emotion that I can't seem to express in words. Maybe those books Hermione reads would do me some good. Maybe then I could explain how I feel. Maybe.

But, we're just friends, right?

Hermione's POV

Wrong. This is all so _wrong. _I've felt Ron's gaze on me for the past half an hour. Paranoia is starting to kick in. I've nearly clawed this chair to death, I seem to have reached the wood.

I've been trying to read but even the fact that Blast-Ended Skrewts _could _have some connection to dragons and therefore _could _be highly dangerous (I quickly scribbled a note to remind me to inform Hagrid) wouldn't distract me. My mind whizzed through possible explanations for his unerving gaze, causing me to be even _more _self concious than before. Out of habit more than anything I tucked some loose strands of hair away from my face. As usual it bounced back with its predictable bushy force.

Sighing I stole a glance up at him only to meet his far-off yet right-there gaze. His icy blues eyes reflecting my own hazel (not _brown _as everyone judges them to be) pair. A shiver runs down my spine. Something seems to rush through me, something unexplainable. You'd think reading mountains of books thoughout your life would help explain some silly emotion. It's friendship obviously. What else could it be?

I ingore some silly voice far back in my overcrowded mind shouting an answer to my question. Hearing voices wasn't a good sign. As quickly as I look up Ron looks down. The moment is over, but I know it certainly won't be the last time I encounter it. The last time I push it away to that little dark corner in my mind where I try not to venture. That is until I look him in the eye again.

I need to stop rambling, I don't make any sense anymore. I lower my eyes to my red flecked fingers, I grab my wand and erase the marks. Perfect.

Far from it. I've never been prefect. I don't mind, really I don't care. I mean look at me. I'm Hermione Granger! My mane of bushy hair, how I cover myself with baggy clothes and school robes which rise just two centimeters off the ground.

Ron, he is... interesting. We agrue, I'll give you that, but it dosen't mean anything. It never will, I just feel it's my _duty _to keep him in line, and Harry of course, but mainly Ron. We just seem to clash over everything and anything. Anarchy is too feeble a word. World War III is more suited.

I have to admit, that sometimes I do _enjoy _it. Just a little, but I love how he dosen't feel the need to hide his opinion from me. Where as Harry is more secluded. It's frustrating argueing with Ron but in some twisted way, I love it. I enjoy it. I _relish _in it.

I'm trying not to look at him but can't help letting my eyes wander over to him. His hair _should _clash horribly with the whole decor in Gryffindor Tower but somehow it dosen't look more perfect. Light brown freckles smatter his face, his eyerbrows are knitted toghether in a concentrated frown. Who knows whats going through his head.

I glance at Harry he's studying for Potions but I know he's more focused on me and Ron. Guilt surges through me, demolishing my confusing thoughts with one cruel swipe. He knows more than Ron and me, well he can admit more to himself at least.

Not that there is anything to admit. Is there? I mean it's Ron! I've know him for years, he is a friend. Nothing more, I'm just feeling normal freindly feelings. Normal. The word denial flashed like neon Weasley-Red lights through my mind, rushing in front of my eyelids, screaming in my ears, burning onto my skin.

He could always make me laugh, even when I disapproved thinking about it still brought an adamant smirk to my face. I loved someone who could make me laugh, I needed comic relief in my life. Without Ron life wouldn't be as bright. His coulourful language and rude signs were a sign of rebellion which I loved. He was Ron. Ron Weasley. I love that about him - in a friend way of course.

They were just friends, right?

She could have sworn out of the cornern if her eye she saw a vibrant shock of red hair move. She could have sworn she saw Ron shake his head. She was sure she heard Ron mutter the word; "Wrong".

**Authors Note:** Finished! This story is pretty pointless, I'm not too proud of it but it should give you an insight into my jumbled mind. I'm prefer _writing _D/Hr but Ron and Hermione are a brilliant couple. Please review!


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